XIV. GAZING ON THE SEA…

XIV. GAZING ON THE SEA

Despite the prayers and tears and earnest pleading, And piteous protest o’er a hero’s fall, Despite the hopeful signs our hearts misleading, Death cometh after all!

Over the brightest scenes are clouds descending; The flame soars highest ere its deepest fall; The glorious day has all too swift an ending: Night cometh after all!

O’er bloom or beauty now in our possession Is seen the shadow of the funeral pall; Though Love and Life make tearful intercession, Death cometh after all!—Harper’s Weekly.

The finger of hope pointed unmistakably in the direction of Long Branch, and as the morning of September 6th dawned upon the White House, all conditions appeared favorable for the removal of the beloved President beyond the malarial influences of the Capital. Preparations for this event were complete. The anxiety of the President to leave Washington had been imparted to all his friends and attendants. Even the physicians were convinced that nothing would bring relief to the sufferer so effectively as the pure, bracing salt breezes of the Atlantic, and their opinion increased the confidence and animated the hope of the country.

The condition of the President seemed peculiarly favorable for the journey. He had eaten well on the previous day, and retained his food. He had slept peacefully, and his wound was doing well. The parotid swelling had almost disappeared, and the general conditions were thought to be remarkably good. It was even said that a considerable increase of strength was manifest in his movements, but this was evidently a mistake. The excitement of the occasion for the time overcame his weakness.

All necessary arrangements for the journey were completed on the 5th. They were elaborate and well-developed. For the special railroad train the plan detailed in the previous chapter was adopted and successfully carried out. During the entire evening of the 5th, trunks, boxes, and a great variety of packages, were sent from the White House to the depot for shipment. Messengers were constantly arriving and departing, workmen were busy in special labor connected with various devices for the comfort of the President, and every thing indicated the eve of a great event. The crowd around the bulletin-board, at the front gate, was largely increased, and many held their positions there during the weary watches of the whole night. Every passer-in or out, who was supposed to have information regarding the wounded man, was eagerly besought to impart it. In reply to a question, Colonel Corbin said to a reporter that the trip could not hurt the President, “because,” he added, “he has been traveling all day.” By this, Colonel Corbin meant that the President had been talking and thinking all day about the trip. This anxiety had characterized the President’s moods for some weeks, and it was therefore believed that the realization of his long-cherished desire would have a salutary effect upon his weakened system.

At a few minutes past five, on the morning of the 6th, several carriages were grouped on the drive in front of the White House, and near the main entrance stood an Adams Express wagon, of the largest size, covered, and furnished with side and end curtains. It was near 6 o’clock when quite a commotion became apparent in the Executive Mansion, and a moment later the President, lying upon a stretcher, was borne carefully and slowly to the express wagon, which had previously been connected with the stone steps of the White House by a wooden platform. It was arranged to permit the men to walk directly into the wagon, where they let the bed down slowly until it rested firmly upon its supports. Then the immediate attendants of the President ranged themselves around him, three on each side. At the head of the bed, on the right, sat Dr. Boynton, next was General Swaim, and at the foot was O. E. Rockwell. On the left were Colonel Rockwell, Dr. Bliss, and Dr. Reyburn, the other physicians having gone on before. The horses were attached, and at once the little procession was in motion, led by Private Secretary Brown, in his buggy.

As the President’s van passed out through the gate, the eyes of the invalid were closed, and that part of his face which could be seen looked pinched and pallid with suffering. In his general contour, there was something to suggest the face of Garfield to those who had known him long and intimately; but the change was astounding to every one unaccustomed to the daily observation of its progress. Perhaps it was not the face of a dying man, but many observers thought it was. There was something intensely pitiful and tear-compelling in the wasted features, and quiet, passive manner of the Nation’s chief executive, and he was thus driven away from his official home, with all the apparent chances largely against his return.

The van was but fairly outside the gate when the horses were urged to a lively walk, which occasionally increased to a slow trot, the pedestrians meantime keeping well up on the pavements. Three policemen walked on either side the wagon to keep the street clear; but there was no attempt at crowding. There was no boisterousness; no unseemly haste to be first; no loud talking. All passion was hushed. The agony of the great soul now going forth to find health for its encasement, subdued and quieted every thing within range of its influence. At one point the President recognized an acquaintance on the street, and slowly lifting his hand, waved a feeble salutation and farewell. At precisely six o’clock this sad procession drove alongside the car, specially fitted up for the martyred Chief Magistrate, the horses were detached, and twenty strong and willing hands backed the wagon to the opening in the car. Then the attendants lifted the stretcher and entered the car with its precious burden. The President was carefully adjusted upon his new bed, the foundation of which was a mattress of extraordinary thickness, and so constructed that the motion of the train could not be felt, a few farewells were said, and then the train moved slowly and smoothly away. Away, with fond hearts full of hope, but soon to be surcharged with dismay and grief!

This seven hours’ journey of 233 miles is now historical, and its principal features are full of interest. The train came to a stop in a few minutes after leaving the Washington dépôt, to permit an approaching train to move out of the way on a siding. “What does this mean?” inquired the President. “Only a momentary detention,” replied Colonel Rockwell. “But important events are ofttimes the issue of a moment,” rejoined the sufferer. This is the only conversation he joined in during the trip. The train soon proceeded, gradually increasing its speed where the track was straight enough to permit, to fifty-five miles an hour, and for a few miles after leaving Philadelphia, it actually attained a speed of sixty miles an hour. The President was watched very closely during the first hour of the journey, in order to detect any symptom of danger from the excitement of the occasion. To the relief and great satisfaction of the physicians, he seemed actually to enjoy the ride and to be improving. His pulse, which reached 118 early in the morning, fell to 110 and then to 108. He did not talk. His voice was too feeble to make his words distinguishable amid the noise of the running train, without too much effort. He occasionally inquired the hour, and once or twice desired to know the names of stopping places. Beef-tea was the sole nutriment given him during the journey, and on two occasions he relished it like a hungry man.

At every one of the forty-six cities and towns and villages, through which the train passed, great crowds thronged the streets. They stood silently, with uncovered heads and eyes wet with tears. The grief of the people was too deep for other demonstration. Words could not express it, and weeping came unbidden. Strong men, rough men, weak men and cultivated men; women of all grades and classes, and even little children, joined in their silent anguish with each other and the world, and poured their lamentation from streaming eyes. In many places, crowds of workingmen left their mills and forges as the train approached, and, ranging themselves alongside the track in an orderly line, stood with hats in hands and heads bowed till it passed beyond range of their vision. Then they solemnly returned to their vocations. There was a feeling of awe beyond expression in the mind of every spectator, and to some extent it entered every thinking mind in the land. Life and death were in fierce conflict upon that lightning train, and the madness of its speed looked like an effort to distance the subtle foe of mortality; but it was only in appearance. Death had long before marked our noble President for his own, with the bullet of the assassin. More than sixty days before the date which identifies this chapter with current history, he was as surely slain at Washington as was Richard III. at Bosworth, in 1485. Such was, in large measure, the feeling of the people. The dark foreboding of calamity began to overshadow them when the foul work of Guiteau’s pistol was flashed over the land on that fatal second of July, and now their hearts were sick with the President’s wounds. They felt with him the pain, and, without his hopefulness, saw the beloved head of the Nation approaching the last dread extremity, with faith undimmed and bravery undaunted.

It was a time for weeping and anguish and silence. And a time for thought. For severe self-examination. For national inquiry. A time to find out for what new crime atonement is required, in such measure as impoverishes all that is noble, and all that is above reproach in our poor world! Do we ever explore the logic of crime until forced to the task? And the lesson of Lincoln’s martyrdom—how was that learned? Had it been remembered, would there have been occasion for this later sacrifice upon the altar of political acrimony?

The lightning train sped onward. A pilot engine preceded it, and its passage was a signal to all approaching trains to get out of the way and remain silent until the convoy had passed. Trains upon side-tracks, wherever they were encountered, were crowded with people, all desirous of obtaining a glimpse of the President, but not obtrusive nor demonstrative beyond the overwhelming influence of great sorrow. Their silence was more expressive than language. It indicated the deepest sympathy, the profoundest respect, the heartiest love. On three or four occasions the poor sufferer waved his hand feebly to the people, but the effort was painful. The journey was devoid of incident beyond what has been related. The train arrived at Elberon at three minutes past 1 o’clock, and the transfer of the President from the car to his quarters at Francklyn Cottage was promptly made, without trouble or disturbance. His room had been elegantly prepared for his occupancy, and it was made pleasant with many beautiful bouquets and rare plants sent by personal friends. The physicians pronounced the arrangements perfect, and could suggest no improvement. They stated that the journey had done the patient no harm, although in the official bulletin, issued at 6:30 P. M. on the day of arrival at Long Branch, they announced his pulse at 124; temperature, 101.6; respiration, 18,—a condition not calculated to reassure the country.

Prayers had been offered during the day in thousands of churches, and by millions of people in their homes and places of business, for the restoration of the President. Faith in the efficacy of prayer seemed to be almost universal, and it is thought that thousands upon thousands of people who had never prayed before, made Garfield the object of their supplications at the throne of God. At a concert of prayer held at the Thirteenth Street Presbyterian Church in New York City, which was largely attended by Christians of all denominations, the following extract from a letter written by the President’s pastor in Washington, Rev. Frederick D. Power, was read:

“His life is before the world, a living epistle, to be known and read of all men. To you I may say he has had the ever-present Comforter, the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, during all these weary days and nights of suffering. He remembers the Lord’s day when it comes; on Sunday morning last, as he opened his eyes to its holy light, he said: ‘This is the Lord’s day; I have great reverence for it.’ He takes great comfort in prayer. Knowing that my little church was continuing daily in prayer to God for him, he said: ‘The dear little church on Vermont Avenue! They have been carrying me as a great burden so long, but when I get up they shall have no cause to regret it.’

“Of his own peril of death he has been mindful, and over and over again has said: ‘I must be prepared for either.’ This has been the principle of his life, ruling in all his experience, as he explained it to me: ‘When I meet the duties of each day as best I can, I cheerfully await whatever result may come.’ When he was first stricken he declared: ‘I believe in God, and trust myself in his hands,’ and there he is, my brethren, and God will keep him, and God will glorify His own great name, whether it be in his life or his death. I could say many things, but my heart and hands are both too full. He is better to-day, but still on the borderland. We are all still besieging the mercy-seat, and we expect God’s answer with great anxiety, but not, I trust, without great faith and submission.

“In conclusion, I may say in the words of President Garfield to me, in a season of like distress—the death of his little son: ‘In the hope of the Gospel, which is so precious in this affliction,’ I am affectionately your brother in Christ.”

The subjoined copies of dispatches are selected from several hundred of a similar tenor, as indicative of the general solicitude:

EXECUTIVE CHAMBER, ALBANY, Sept. 6, 1881.

For the purpose of enabling the people to unite with those of other States in petitioning the Ruler of the Universe for the restoration to health of the President of the United States, the 8th day of September, instant, I hereby set apart and designate as a day of fasting and prayer. It is recommended that all ordinary avocations be suspended, and the people, in their usual places of worship, humbly acknowledge their faults and reverently supplicate the mercy of the Heavenly Father that the national peril, which now appears so imminent, may be averted. Let the prayers of all be united for the early and complete recovery of the President’s health and strength. May the blessing of Almighty God rest upon the stricken sufferer and the afflicted family.

Given under my hand and seal at the Capitol in the City of Albany, this 6th day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty-one.

ALONZO B. CORNELL.

By the Governor—HENRY E. ABELL.

The meeting for prayer in behalf of the President was largely attended. From twenty to twenty-five prayers were offered by clergymen and laymen, which were remarkable for their earnestness and importunity. The bulletins announcing the departure of the President from the White House and the progress of the train were read at the opening and close of the meeting.

PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 6.—In accordance with the proclamation of the Governor, the churches of the city were generally thrown open, between the hours of 10 and 12 this morning, for worship for the recovery of President Garfield. At Harrisburg business was entirely suspended from 10 o’clock until noon. Services were held in the churches and in various industrial establishments. The dispatches relative to the President’s journey were read from a number of pulpits. In most other places in the State services were held and business was suspended during the hours named.

CINCINNATI, Sept. 6.—The proclamation of Governor Foster was observed by meetings for prayer in the Christian churches, and a union meeting was also held in the First Presbyterian Church from 10 to 12 o’clock. The public schools were dismissed. The Mayor’s office and all the Government offices were closed, and deep interest was felt in regard to the result of the President’s journey from Washington to Long Branch. At the Republican County Convention prayer was offered by Dr. Kumler, who made a most fervent petition for the recovery of the President. After the prayer, on motion, the convention gave three cheers for the President. The convention also adopted a resolution condemning the attempted assassination, and extending sympathy to Mrs. Garfield.

COLUMBUS, OHIO, Sept. 6.—Religious services were held in several of the churches here from 10 to 12 o’clock to-day, and many prayers were offered for the recovery of the President. The bulletin-boards were eagerly watched by anxious crowds, and each dispatch telling of the favorable progress in the Presidential journey from Washington to Long Branch was joyfully discussed. The feeling that the President will recover seems to permeate all classes, and nothing but hopeful expressions were heard to-day.

CHICAGO, Sept. 6.—The church services and union meetings to-day for the purpose of invoking Divine aid for the President’s restoration to health, were well attended and fervently participated in. Business was generally suspended in the public offices, business boards, etc. The announcement of the easy trip of the President to Long Branch and his improved condition, is the subject of great rejoicing to thousands who eagerly inquire for accounts of his progress.

ATLANTA, GA., Sept. 6.—In response to the Governor’s proclamation, the Hall of Representatives here was filled to-day with the members of the General Assembly and citizens, to offer up prayers for the recovery of President Garfield. Religious services were held, and addresses and prayers were made by leading ministers of the city.

WILMINGTON, N. C., Sept. 6.—To-day was very generally observed here as one of prayer for the recovery of the President. Services were held in all the churches in accordance with the proclamation of the Governor, and between 10 and 12 o’clock, the hours devoted to religious services, business was almost entirely suspended. A feature of the day which attracted some attention was the fact that nearly all the bar-rooms were closed.

RALEIGH, N. C., Sept. 6.—In accordance with the Governor’s proclamation, to-day was generally observed here as a day of prayer for the President. Federal and State buildings and offices of manufacturers, etc., were closed. Impressive services were held at the churches.

AUGUSTA, GA., Sept. 6.—The day of prayer was very generally observed here. The Mayor issued a proclamation, and all the public offices, banks and many stores were closed. Services were held in the churches, and prayers offered for the restoration of the President to health. Some pastors mentioned that the wounding of the President had the effect of cementing the sections together as one people.

SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 6.—A special service of prayer for the recovery of the President was held this morning in the hall of the Young Men’s Christian Association. The Ministerial Union was present in a body. Every seat in the hall was occupied, and crowds were forced to stand.

INDIANAPOLIS, Sept. 6.—Religious services were held, in obedience to the Governor’s proclamation, in a number of the leading churches to-day, and prayers were offered in behalf of the President. Many of the business houses were closed from 10 to 12 o’clock.

CLEVELAND, O., Sept. 6.—Business was generally suspended throughout Northern Ohio between 10 o’clock and noon to-day, while people of all denominations gathered in their houses of worship, in town and country, and joined in prayer for the restoration of President Garfield to health.

The sixty-eighth day.—On the following day, the 7th of September, there was still no positive change in the President’s condition. The early morning dispatches announced: “He is no worse than when he left Washington, neither is he any better.”

Such a statement was, of course, quite unsatisfactory to the country, because, the people argued, “no better” always means “worse.” There is no neutral ground in a case of this kind. The morning bulletin found the pulse at 106; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. In the evening the pulse was 108; temperature, 101; respiration, 18. The day was very warm, the thermometer ranging from 90° to 100°, and the people were remarkably anxious over the reports of the physicians. When it was learned that after the issue of the evening bulletin, the pulse ran up to 114, there was wide-spread apprehension. The gentle sea-breezes, from which so much was expected, were not doing their appointed work. For most of the day there was a dead calm of the atmosphere at Long Branch, and the temperature was described as almost unbearable by people in health. To the sufferer it was wonderfully oppressive, and there were apprehensions that, unless change of temperature in an abatement of the furnace-like heat soon came, there would be reason to conclude that the journey of Tuesday was in vain. Every body complained but the President. He proved himself the most patient of invalids, and but once during the entire day made a remark which indicated any thing like discontent with the situation. Opening his eyes from a short nap, he turned them toward the windows and said to an attendant, who was fanning him: “Oh, those windows are so small.” For a few moments he breathed laboriously, and his pulse increased to a high rate, and the reaction caused unusual weakness.

Throughout the day the bulletin-boards at the various newspaper offices, and places of public resort in every part of the country, were besieged by large crowds of anxious men and women of every grade in the social scale, eager for the smallest scrap of information to sustain the earnest prayer of their hearts—that the revered President was now upon the sure course of recovery; but all the facts reported by the physicians pointed to a calamitous result. Only their comments were encouraging, and whatever of encouragement they conveyed was not accepted by the mind of science. It was seen that the President’s bravery had imparted a strange degree of assurance to his immediate attendants, whose reports were unconsciously colored by the mental force rather than the physical condition of the sufferer; and thus at least nine-tenths of his fellow-countrymen were buoyed up with hopes which had no foundation beyond the tenacity of a gigantic will.

The sixty-ninth day.—So wonderful was the exercise of the President’s mental force that on Thursday two of his medical attendants announced his convalescence! Surgeon-General Barnes, Surgeon J. J. Woodward and Dr. Robert Reyburn had been relieved from duty at Garfield’s bedside on the previous day, at the wish of the President, as he expressed it, “to relieve them of labor and responsibility which, in his improved condition, he could no longer properly impose upon them.” Drs. Bliss and Hamilton remained in their professional capacity, and Dr. Boynton, Mrs. Garfield’s physician, in the capacity of nurse. Between nine and ten o’clock, on the morning of the eighth, a newspaper correspondent said to Dr. Bliss:

“Doctor, you seem to be feeling pretty well this morning.”

“I should think I was; why, the man is convalescent; his pulse is now down to ninety-six.”

This announcement was astounding, but as the correspondent was endeavoring to settle in his own mind whether the doctor was not a little delirious himself, as a result of long watching and continued nervous tension, he turned to some persons who approached, and was soon asserting to them with emphasis, “This is convalescence.” The good news traveled with marvelous speed. “Dr. Bliss says the President is convalescent,” was soon on every lip, but was received with incredulity.

“We had better wait awhile before we toss up our hats,” was the comment of a member of the Cabinet.

As the day wore on, confirmation from every trustworthy source was obtained of the good tidings from the sick-room. Before noon Dr. Bliss and Dr. Hamilton appeared together on the veranda, and Dr. Bliss repeated his belief that the President was convalescent. “That is good news,” said a gentleman to Dr. Hamilton. “Yes,” was the reply, “and it is true.” Dr. Boynton came out of the President’s cottage about noon and strolled toward the edge of the bluff, with his hands behind him and with a far-away look in his eyes, which were turned to the east, whence the rising breeze was coming and the increasing weaves were rolling up on the beach at his feet.

“Doctor, this is a fortunate change.”

“Yes; the President is better.”

“You are, of course, hopeful, as all the rest are?”

“Yes, the change is not enough to base any medical statement of improvement upon, but what there is is in the right direction.”

Colonel Rockwell was more emphatic. “Dr. Bliss says the President is convalescent. What do you think?” asked a correspondent.

“Yes,” said the Colonel, “Dr. Bliss thinks so. The doctor said to the President this morning, in my presence: ‘Mr. President, you are convalescent; you are getting out of the woods.’ He is certainly doing very well and we shall have him propped up before many days. We have sent to-day for his reclining chair. It is one of those chairs which you can make any thing of, from an upright chair to a bed, and is softly cushioned. With a few days more of improvement, we will have him up where we can roll him to the windows.”

“And out upon the lawn, too, I presume, after a time?”

“Well, perhaps.”

“And you will, doubtless, take him to Mentor before many weeks?”

“Yes, probably he wants to get home, but he enjoys this place very well. We turned him on his side this morning, so that he could look out over the ocean, and he was very much pleased. He longed to get here. Two or three days before we started, I remember a queer remark he made. I said to him, ‘Mr. President, how would you like to have us put you on the Tallapoosa and get you down to the salt water?’ ‘That would be temporary, tentative and unsettled,’ he said; ‘put me on the cars and take me to Long Branch.’”

“Does he read the papers?”

“No; but he could. Yesterday I read to him a number of dispatches we had just received. Here is one of them now.” The Colonel drew from his pocket a telegram, which he read as follows:

“PITTSFIELD, MASS., September 7.

“To President GARFIELD, Long Branch:

“The Garfield and Arthur Club, of Pittsfield, and people of the town, without regard to party lines, in Berkshire County, to whose hospitalities you were coming when so brutally assailed, and where thousands of Berkshire hearts were waiting to welcome you, all unite in congratulations on your safe arrival at the sea-shore. All hope for your speedy recovery, and to-day the shire town suspends business to meet and ask the Great Healer to be with you and make efficacious the efforts of your earthly physicians.

OFFICERS AND MEMBERS of the Garfield and Arthur Club, and many others.”

“The President,” continued Colonel Rockwell, “was greatly pleased by the kind expressions in the telegram, and bade me telegraph his thanks.”

Dr. Hamilton, in conversation with Dr. Pancoast, spoke very encouragingly of the prospects, saying, in effect, that he had the strongest hopes of recovery. Celebrations and thanksgivings to signalize the joy of the people, were freely discussed. The apparent change for the better caused a rebound in popular sentiment, which was quite disproportioned to its cause. Alas! it had no foundation whatever.

At 8:30 in the morning the President’s pulse indicated 104; temperature, 98.7; respiration, 18. At 6:30, evening, pulse 100; temperature, 99.1; respiration, 18. Dr. Bliss declared most emphatically that the favorable symptoms would continue. At 10:30 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled this hopeful message:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“The President’s rest was much broken during the first half of last night, but to-day his condition has been more favorable. He had less fever this afternoon than for several days past; has better pulse and improved appetite. His surgeons are much encouraged. His comfort has been promoted by a decided change in the weather. Thermometer at this hour (10:30) 75° Fahrenheit; yesterday it was 95°.”

In many of the States, in response to the proclamations of their Governors, the people gathered at their places of worship and offered prayer for the recovery of the Chief Magistrate. In many cities business was almost wholly suspended for this service, and there was hearty supplication every-where for the Divine blessing upon the languishing President. Faith in prayer seemed to have become universal, and certainly the sentiments which accompanied this faith are an honor to humanity and a solace to the world.

The seventieth day.—September 9th was regarded as “a favorable day,” and the rapid convalescence of the President was confidently announced. The cool atmosphere seemed to invigorate him, and his appetite was fair. The physicians announced a decided improvement, but the morning bulletin did not create a sanguine feeling in non-professional minds, and the more cautious were scarcely satisfied with the symptoms, but preferred to await further developments before resting in the belief that the favorable change would not be interrupted by some unforeseen complication. Naturally, the immediate attendants upon the President exhibited a more decided opinion that the improvement was likely to be permanent, than did persons not so intimately connected with the case. Assurance from those having access to the patient’s room, that he was much better than before leaving Washington, was very generally and gratefully accepted.

At 8:30 A. M. his pulse was 100; temperature, 98.5; respiration, 17. At noon there was scarcely a notable change. At 6 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 18. At 10 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled the subjoined dispatch:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“The medical reports are all favorable to-day—morning, noon, and night. The President has not for many weeks done so well for so many consecutive hours. He has had very little fever; his respiration has been normal, and his pulse has not exceeded 100. He slept without opiates, and gained strength without stimulants. His nights are not so restful as could be desired; but in the twenty-four hours he gets sufficient sleep. The weather, though not excessively warm, continues sultry and oppressive. Much is hoped from the clear, bracing air which may be expected here at this season.”

On the same evening, Attorney-General MacVeagh expressed his views in these words: “At present everything looks favorable, and of course we hope that what has been gained will be maintained and added to, but the difficulty is, the President’s blood is in an unhealthy condition, and until he recuperates sufficiently to overcome any bad effects of blood-poisoning, it is not safe to be sanguine.” He thought, furthermore, that the President would convalesce in ten days. This was the 9th of September. Of course he could not foresee the 19th, and we must not anticipate that memorable date.

The seventy-first day.—Saturday, September 10th, was ushered in with favorable omens. It was pronounced “a satisfactory day” by Dr. Bliss. He expressed the opinion that the wound was healing from the bottom. The temperature was one degree higher than on the previous day, and this was the only change noted in the bulletins. But there was an undercurrent of apprehension more significant than any thing which appeared in print. The people had learned from an unofficial and unauthoritative source that the President was worse, and that blood-poisoning had shown itself in very alarming symptoms. Unfortunately, this information was true. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 104; temperature, 99.4; respiration, 18. At noon, pulse, 100; temperature, 98.5; respiration, 18. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.7; respiration, 18. Secretary Blaine cabled as follows, at 10 P. M.:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“After dispatch of last night the President had considerable increase of fever. Indeed, a rise of pulse and temperature every night has become a significant feature in his case. Through the day, and especially this afternoon, he has grown more comfortable. A cold easterly storm has prevailed since early morning without evil effect thus far on his condition. Secretary Windom had a brief interview with the President at noon. He found him much reduced in strength, but clear in his mind. He asked the Secretary about the success of the refunding of the public debt.”

The seventy-second day.—A day of anxiety. The President was unmistakably worse. It was ascertained that a portion of the matter discharged from the mouth was not pus from the parotid gland, as had been supposed, but pus from a badly diseased lung. The situation was regarded as critical, and especially so when the patient’s cough returned with considerable violence. At 8:30 P. M. his pulse was 104; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 19. At noon, pulse, 110; temperature, 100; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 110; temperature, 100.6; respiration, 20. The increase in respiration was attributed to the affection of the lungs. At 10:30 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled the following report:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“The President had an increase of fever last night and was very restless until 5 o’clock A. M. During the day he has been somewhat better, but his pulse, temperature, and respiration have been higher for the entire twenty-four hours than on any preceding day since he reached Long Branch. His other symptoms are not reassuring, and his general condition gives rise to anxiety.”

The seventy-third day.—Monday was pronounced “favorable.” A decided improvement in the President’s symptoms was reported by the attending physicians, who pronounced the anxiety of the previous day “a senseless panic.” The lung difficulty was spoken of as of little importance now that it was understood, except by Dr. Boynton, who contended very strongly that it was an effect of blood-poisoning. Yet he thought the President’s vitality sufficient to overcome any serious results from it, provided no further complication of a similar nature occurred. At 8:30 A. M. his pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. At noon, pulse, 106; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 18. At 2:30 P. M. the following message was cabled by Secretary Blaine:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“The President slept well last night, and his condition to-day is more comfortable and more favorable. During my absence for a short time Dr. Agnew or Dr. Hamilton will send you a daily report.”

At 10 P. M. Attorney-General MacVeagh sent, by cable, the following dispatch:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“In the absence of Mr. Blaine, the attending physicians have requested me to inform you of the President’s condition. He has during the day eaten sufficient food with relish, and has enjoyed at intervals refreshing sleep. His wound and the incisions made by the surgeons all look better. The parotid gland has ceased suppuration, and may be considered as substantially well. He has exhibited more than his usual cheerfulness of spirits. His temperature and respiration are now normal, and his pulse is less frequent and firmer than at the same hour last evening. Notwithstanding these favorable symptoms, the condition of the lower part of the right lung will continue to be a source of anxiety for some days to come.”

The seventy-fourth day.—Tuesday, September 13th, was for the most part uneventful, except that at 11 A. M. he was placed in a semi-recumbent position upon an easy chair, in which position he remained half an hour without fatigue or discomfort. In reply to a question by Dr. Bliss, President Garfield said he experienced no pain and did not even feel tired. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 99.4; respiration, 20. At noon, pulse, 100; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M. pulse, 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 20. A favorable report was cabled by Attorney-General MacVeagh to Minister Lowell.

The seventy-fifth day.—“Still gaining slowly,” was the morning report. It was announced that the patient suffered from a septic infection of the blood, but this was not believed to be very serious. Dr. Boynton was the only physician who expressed much anxiety about it, and his views were invariably soothed by the belief that the President’s robust constitution would eventually conquer all his physical complications. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 19. At noon, pulse 104; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 112; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 21. The bulletins looked sufficiently unfavorable, but the physicians viewed them with complaisance. Dr. Boynton, however, informed a reporter that the pulse frequently reached 120, but this fact was kept from the family and the public. At 10 o’clock Attorney-General MacVeagh reported as follows:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“There is an increase this evening in the President’s temperature, pulse, and respiration; but it is so slight as not necessarily to indicate that the condition of the blood is producing any new complications. The trouble in the right lung is not increasing, and is causing him less annoyance. He has taken adequate nourishment, and his sleep has been natural and refreshing; so that, if he has gained nothing, he has probably lost nothing during the day.”

The seventy-sixth day.—“Slight progress toward recovery” was reported. The surgeons concluded not to admit that the septic condition of the patient’s blood amounted to pyæmia, and they expressed confidence that the difficulty would be overcome. The President took food in variety, but not with a strong appetite. In the early morning hours he was quite wakeful, and gave way to fits of despondency. In one of these he called aloud to an attendant: “Save me; don’t let me sink.” Words of encouragement were uttered, but for a time he could not bring himself to believe that he yet had hope of recovery. “I fear bringing me here will prove but a roaring farce after all,” said he. He was not readily reassured, and the incident was not regarded as favorable. Still the physicians and newspaper correspondents sent out fair reports to the country, and the people were therefore quite unprepared for the events so near at hand. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 20. At noon, pulse 102; temperature, 98.9; respiration, 21. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 104; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 21. Attorney-General MacVeagh reported to Minister Lowell that all the symptoms were substantially the same as on the previous day, except that the expectoration from the right lung was rather less difficult and less profuse.

The seventy-seventh day.—A day of “unfavorable symptoms.” Great anxiety was experienced by the immediate friends of the honored sufferer, and the physicians acknowledged the gravity of the occasion. His physical weakness had never before been so apparent, and his utter exhaustion seemed ominous of the end. Those who had never before questioned his ability to rally, now began to doubt it; and, when it was found that the pulse frequently reached 130 beats, intelligent men and women were struck with wonder at the persistent vitality of the man. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 104; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 21. At noon, pulse 116; temperature, 99.8; respiration, 21. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 104; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 22. Attorney-General MacVeagh cabled as follows:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“There has been no very marked change in the President’s condition, but it is not at this hour reassuring. The different symptoms are almost all slightly aggravated. The temperature and the pulse have fluctuated more than usual, and the respiration is rather more frequent, while the character of the discharges continues to be unsatisfactory. There is, therefore, a sensible increase of anxiety.”

The seventy-eighth day.—“A day of deep anxiety.” The President was worse. He was sinking beyond reach of the strong arm of science and the willing hands of love, never to be reclaimed by earthly agencies. A chill, continuing half an hour, was followed by perspiration and a rapid rise of temperature. The situation was alarming, although the immediate effects of the chill did not appear as serious as might have been expected,—for the pulse fell, in a few hours, from 120 to 102, the temperature from 102 to 98, and the respiration from 24 to 18. These were phenomenal changes. Yet the word “rigor,” as translated in the medical vocabulary, is invested with nameless terrors, and the condition of the patient was assumed, on all sides, to be precarious in the extreme. The attending physicians were startled, but they did not fail to predict another rally, and a decided improvement in a few days. They did not seem to realize that the crisis was upon them, and the country certainly did not. The Attorney-General cabled to Minister Lowell that “the situation is now probably more grave and critical than at any time heretofore.”

The seventy-ninth day.—Sunday was marked by an increase of fear and anxiety. Another chill, but of shorter duration, was one of the untoward incidents of the day. Dr. Bliss declared that the frequent recurrence of chills would soon wear out the President’s life, but he hoped to devise some means to prevent them. During this last attack the President’s pulse reached 134, possibly 140. Dr. Boynton had some clear ideas regarding the case. On Sunday night he said:

“The President’s condition to-day, compared with yesterday, shows a slight improvement.”

“Do you not think the low pulse and temperature of last night and this morning were favorable indications?”

“I do not. The low pulse and temperature, the sound sleep, and the freedom from cough and expectoration were indications of a very low state of vitality, and can not be considered as favorable symptoms. If he grows stronger, there will be a rise in the pulse and temperature, and his cough and expectoration will return.”

“Is it true that you stated last night that the President’s condition was hopeless?”

“No, sir. I said his case was extremely critical, but not hopeless.”

“What is your opinion to-night?”

“The same as last night. For several weeks he has at times made satisfactory progress, but, in each instance, the improvement has been followed by a relapse, which left him on a lower plane of vitality than before. This feature of his case is peculiar to most cases of chronic pyæmia. The President has a wonderful constitution, but it is doubtful if it is sufficient to carry him on to recovery.”

This conversation is interesting from the fact that it shows the very correct logic of one of the President’s most intimate attendants only twenty-four hours preceding the final catastrophe. Dr. Bliss was slightly more confident than Dr. Boynton. No points are given from the physicians’ bulletins, for the reason that it was thought best on Sunday to suppress some of the more unfavorable indications, and the bulletins are therefore not history. At 10 P. M., Attorney-General MacVeagh cabled the following:

“LOWELL, Minister, London:

“The President passed a comparatively quiet and comfortable day, but this evening he had another chill of less duration than that of yesterday, but sufficient to increase the very great anxiety already existing. He has also been slowly growing weaker, and his present condition excites the gravest apprehensions.”

The last day.—Monday, September 19, brought the final eclipse of hope. It is not easy to describe it in these pages in such way as will do full justice to the subject for the American people; because, first, its facts are so incredible as to appear quite outside the range of history; and, second, the people, the great masses, can not yet understand how their beloved President could be so foully murdered without the swift annihilation of the murderer. The human mind does not always remember that the methods of justice must be quite distinct and wholly dissimilar from those of crime, and that the cause of law and order is promoted by this distinction. And possibly it will never be taught to remember this lesson invariably.

Upon this fateful Monday morning, the President was prostrated by a severe chill, called “rigor” by the physicians. It proved to be weakening beyond precedent. During its continuance, the pulse ran up to 143, and for a long time remained above 140. It decreased gradually in the afternoon, and when it was found that there was no recurrence of the chill in the evening, the promise of a restful night was thought to be good. The physicians were not agreed as to the responsible cause of the patient’s crisis. Dr. Boynton lost his hopeful tone early in the day, but Dr. Bliss remained comparatively sanguine till the last moment. No one immediately connected with the case anticipated the death of the sufferer, however, for several days yet, and it was remarked that even Mrs. Garfield, although greatly fatigued, was by no means despondent. She could not realize that death was even then robbing her of her heart’s dearest treasure.

The President rested quietly during the afternoon, and it was found that he had rallied from the effect of the chill in a manner to surprise the physicians. His mind was bright, the dressing of the wound did not fatigue him, and after it was over he asked for a hand-glass, taking which he examined his face and said he could not understand how he should be so weak when he looked so bright. This was at 6 P. M. Dr. Bliss remarked, that after such a rallying there was hope, but the trouble was want of strength. After the closest examination, the surgeons said it was possible for the patient to live a week, even granting that present conditions were to carry him off. Drs. Bliss, Agnew, and Hamilton, all concurred in this view, and it was sent out to the country in the dispatches of the associated press. Although such a message was designed to be pacifying, people every-where were startled. It was a virtual concession that all hope of recovery had been abandoned, and that the clouds of death were already lowering. But there was something infinitely more startling to come shortly.

At 10 P. M., while the President was asleep, General Swaim noticed that his limbs were cold. To warm them, he procured a flannel cloth, heated it at the fire and laid it over the knees. He heated another cloth and laid it over the President’s right hand, and then sat down beside the bed. The sad occurrences of the night are thus related in General Swaim’s words:

“I was hardly seated when Dr. Boynton came in and felt the President’s pulse. I asked him how it seemed to him. He replied: ‘It is not as strong as it was this afternoon, but very good.’ I said: ‘He seems to be doing well.’ ‘Yes,’ he answered, and passed out. He was not in the room more than two minutes.

“Shortly after this the President awoke. As he turned his head on awakening, I arose and took hold of his hand. I was on the left hand side of the bed as he lay. I remarked: ‘You have had a nice comfortable sleep.’

“He then said, ‘O Swaim, this terrible pain,’ placing his right hand on his breast about over the region of the heart. I asked him if I could do any thing for him. He said, ‘Some water.’ I went to the other side of the room and poured about an ounce and a half of Poland water into a glass and gave it to him to drink. He took the glass in his hand, I raising his head as usual, and drank the water very naturally. I then handed the glass to the colored man, Daniel, who came in during the time I was getting the water. Afterward I took a napkin and wiped his forehead, as he usually perspired on awaking. He then said, ‘O Swaim, this terrible pain—press your hand on it.’ I laid my hand on his chest. He then threw both hands up to the sides and about on a line with his head, and exclaimed: ‘O Swaim, can’t you stop this?’ And again, ‘O Swaim!’

“I then saw him looking at me with a staring expression. I asked him if he was suffering much pain. Receiving no answer, I repeated the question, with like result. I then concluded that he was either dying or was having a severe spasm, and called to Daniel, who was at the door, to tell Dr. Bliss and Mrs. Garfield to come immediately, and glanced at the small clock hanging on the chandelier nearly over the foot of his bed and saw that it was ten minutes past 10 o’clock. Dr. Bliss came in within two or three minutes. I told Daniel to bring the light. A lighted candle habitually sat behind a screen near the door. When the light shone full on the President’s face I saw that he was dying. When Dr. Bliss came in a moment after, I said: ‘Doctor, have you any stimulants? he seems to be dying.’ He took hold of the President’s wrist, as if feeling for his pulse, and said: ‘Yes, he is dying.’ I then said to Daniel: ‘Run and arouse the house.’ At that moment Colonel Rockwell came in, when Dr. Bliss said: ‘Let us rub his limbs,’ which we did. In a very few moments Mrs. Garfield came in, and said: ‘What does this mean?’ and a moment after exclaimed: ‘Oh, why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong?’ At 10:30 P. M. the sacrifice was complete. He breathed his last calmly and peaceably.”

The great President was dead! It could not be realized at the moment, and yet within the ten minutes succeeding his demise the bells in a hundred cities were tolling his solemn knell. Long before the morning light of the 20th illumined the earth, the hearts of millions throughout the world were heavy with the tidings.

Dead! whispered the wires with lightning haste. Dead! clanged the bells, with their brazen tongues. Dead! was echoed around the world, from lip to lip, until the mournful chorus resounded in a wail of heart-piercing agony. Dead! dead! dead! exclaimed all the people. But not so. Garfield will live forever in the better thoughts of those who loved him, and who are made better for having loved him. The brave heart, the open hand, the great soul, generous and true—these will bless the world for evermore! Garfield is deathless.

“No man was better prepared for death,” remarked a prominent member of his Cabinet. “No, sir, nor for life, which requires infinitely superior preparation,” may be safely responded. The life which he lived required the practice of all the virtues; the crucifixion of all the vices; bravery of the severest type; gentleness, trust, and clear-cut integrity. Practice had perfected in him these rules of life, and for many years he had furnished an example of purity and probity for his fellow-men. This is not taken away with the removal of the body. It can not be taken away. The pages of history will be brightened with it as long as eminent worth remains the goal of human ambition.

His removal has chastened and sweetened the national life. The hearts of all men, from every party, have been drawn together in a common brotherhood, and the country to a man denounces and resents “the deep damnation of his taking off.” Every difference is annihilated in the presence of the universal bereavement. His death forced a cry of grief from the pained heart of every man and woman in christendom who loves good deeds, and reveres the example of an honest life: who admires the power to withstand trial, to bear suffering, and to confront danger; who reveres those that possess the courage of their convictions, however resisted by menace and scorn. No mourning was ever before so universal, so heartfelt, so spontaneous, so lasting. Every consideration of business, of pleasure, of political preferment, of social enjoyment, of speculation, of whatsoever men and women were engaged in, gave way at once to the general lamentation. These things were most observable in our own land, but in some measure they prevailed in every civilized country, and extended even to the isles of the sea. His had been a precious life to his own people for many years. It has become precious to all the world’s millions now, and will remain so through all the ages.

He proved himself a hero many times and on many trying occasions before his eighty days of heroic endurance of the assassin’s stroke; but never was there a brighter example of Christian fortitude and uncompromising submission than that furnished by him during those eighty days. And never was there any thing more heroic and queenly than the devotion of his noble wife from the beginning to the close of this eventful period. Where is there a grander picture of womanhood than Mrs. Garfield? The history of neither ancient nor modern times furnishes its superior. What was position to her, with its pride and circumstance, when placed in the balance with love and duty? Elevation to the place of the most envied woman in the land—the leader of society at the National Capital—she practiced that grand simplicity which made her the fit companion for the eminently practical and busy President while in health, and, when overtaken by his great calamity, nursed him day and night with unceasing devotion. What example could be more admirable than this for the women of the present age? Well may great queens acknowledge this true woman their peer, and treat her as a sister.

For the two weeks at Long Branch, and probably for other weeks at Washington, he was kept alive by the indomitable power of his own will and the gentle care of those who loved him better than life. The “little woman” to whom he sent his love before the first shock of his wound had subsided, was the prominent object in his heart of hearts, and well has she proved her title to the place she occupied there. Well did she remember her vow to love, honor, and cherish, in sickness and in health, till death. With what faithfulness, with what untiring devotion and pathetic zeal was that vow kept; and how holy must be the associations which now cluster around every act and every aspiration of the womanly faith and love which animated the noble wife in her hour of trial. History furnishes no more prominent example of devoted affection, forgetfulness of self, sacrifice of all comfort, carelessness of every thing except the poor sufferer upon the bed of pain. He was her only object in life. And to him, she was the bright star of destiny, the ever-present angel of hope, the trusty sentinel upon the ramparts of eternity, who menaced and kept at bay the arch-enemy, death. Her faith and hope and love were the medicaments which sustained him through all those weary days, when the services of physicians became as naught in the process of healing. No one could perform for him the tender offices of nursing so well as she; no voice so sweet as hers; no hand so gentle nor so ready to anticipate his wants. In those other years, when they toiled together for the mental, moral, and material advancement of themselves and their children, and knew little of the gay world, he learned this; and now, when they had reached the summit of the loftiest earthly ambition, and she, by right as well as courtesy, was acknowledged the first lady in the land, he still found her the same faithful nurse, with the old devotion to her wifely duty which makes the true woman an angel of mercy, and of more worth in the chamber of sickness than any physician. She never left him in all those weary days of pain, and she it was who, on many occasions, brought him back to consciousness and life by tender care, when it seemed to others that the slender thread which bound him to earth was too weak longer to hold.

Her loving devotion under these conditions was the subject of daily encomiums; and even the medical attendants were unanimous in according her the first praise for attentions which were more important to the patient than any they could render. Without her soothing ministrations, it is thought the life of the President would have been much abridged; and when it is remembered that this toil was constant, day by day, without intermission, except a few hours for sleep, wholly self-abnegating, and to the exclusion of all thoughts for her own health or comfort, she may well be cited as one of the noblest examples of true wifehood in any age or country. The ancients were filled with admiration at the devotion of Penelope to Ulysses. How weak and tame is the example when compared with that which now causes American womanhood to be so lovingly reverenced!

That is indeed a sorrowful picture where the President, from his room at Elberon, takes his last view of the sea. Those calm eyes surveyed the mighty waters, whose lashings are regular as the movement of the pendulum, with sensations which will never be known, for he was wholly absorbed in meditation. Once or twice he turned to the faithful wife with a smile upon his attenuated features, but nothing referring to the scene or the situation was said by either. With his hand locked in hers, they communed in spirit, conscious of the presence of God in His works and in His mercy. The anxiety of the people for the great President was not shared by himself, except as his sympathies were now, as always, with the people; but who shall describe the agony of the poor wife as she noted the weakness, daily increasing, of the noble form upon which, for so many joyous years, she had leaned for support? Who shall depict her anguish as she now realized that the sea breezes, which had brought so much health for others, could bring none to her languishing husband? Whatever may have been the hopes of the country, there were no hopes of recovery in this sick chamber now,—only prayers, and possibly something like a dream of a miracle—yearned for, but impossible. What picture can be more saddening, or convey a deeper meaning in its illustration of a holy presence in the chamber of pain, than that individualized by the wife of the President!

The name of Lucretia Garfield will remain linked indissolubly with that of the great soul whose love she honored, so long as wifely heroism is honored of man. In his youth, in the days of his poverty, she made him rich with the countless wealth of her woman’s love. She pointed the way to a great future. To her careful management and sound advice is much of his early success to be attributed. Standing beside him at the coronation of his ambition, in the hour of his glory, she looked upon him with a pride beyond language, as, under such conditions, what wife would not; but in the dark days, which measured the period from July 2d to September 20th, and ended so deplorably to her and the country, it was a wifely love, destitute of all vainglory, with which, in full view of Christendom, she ministered, as only angels do, to the wounded form of her dying husband. No picture could be more pathetic, more instructive, more valuable as an example to all women of this day and coming ages; and it will be so remembered. Garfield’s struggle for a life that had become historic for its manly courage, was brave indeed; but with the history of that struggle there must forever be associated the imperishable name of a wife as great as he in all that makes greatness worth living or dying for in the eyes of men. “Man is the image and glory of God, but the woman is the glory of the man.”

Now the land was covered with a pall. The insignia of mourning greeted the eye everywhere. It was the spontaneous expression of the people, without premeditation or system. Concert of action in a matter where every one moved upon the instant was not feasible; but it was as if the President were lying dead in every habitation. Prompted by a sentiment which defies analysis, but which sprang from that wearisome vigil at his bedside; from those long weeks of testing his pulse, listening to his breathings, and wondering at his courage; from hope deferred, gloom, despair, death—it agitated the depths of universal humanity, and impelled a response to the holiest dictates of every heart. Notwithstanding the all-pervading grief, the demonstration was wonderful and without a parallel. Quite as wonderful for its universality as for any of its physical conformations. A poor widow, in a Western city, draped her doorway with her one black dress. She had no other means of joining in the general expression of grief. Doubtless many other widows did the same thing for exactly the same reason. Others, who had not even a decent dress, hung out a single yard of black muslin, or a less quantity of crape. The poor made as emphatic expression of their grief as the wealthy, and the humblest offering of honest poverty invariably carried to the heart of the observer a deeper pathos than the ornate decorations with which the rich man symboled his lamentation. This is not said in a spirit of criticism, but to record a fact which is a part of this history, and which teaches a lesson germane to its object.

Not in this country alone were these things prominent, but they were part of the mourning of every land that regards the usages of civilization; and wherever there is recognition of mental and moral worth, there was heartfelt grief at the death of Garfield. The world missed him. He occupied a place of great responsibility, which no one could be better fitted for. His administration gave promise of good results. He was anxious to do good for the sake of good, rather than for popularity. He was resolved to do right regardless of those who might stand in his path. He did every thing in his power that he believed to be right. He opposed, with all his might, every thing he believed to be wrong. He was a just man and forgiving, with no hooks upon which to hang grudges. He was a Christian statesman—the highest type of a chief executive. How much the country lost in his death will never be computed. It is beyond estimate. It is more than any one has yet attempted to figure out. The sum of such a man’s value is quite beyond the reach of mathematics. It can not be measured; therefore grief for his loss is illimitable.

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XV. THE SOLEMN PAGEANT

There he lies dead beside the moaning sea! The days of watching and the nights of pain, The burning flush, the keen anxiety, The ebb and flow of hope, the blinding rain Of bitter tears that came and came again,— All, all are ended! O’er the sighing deep Floats on the solemn air a sad, low strain, A mournful dirge that seems to sob and weep! O Nation, take your dead and lay him down to sleep!

The President was dead. The curtain had fallen at last between an anxious people and the first citizen of the Republic. It only remained for fifty millions of freemen to take him up with tender hands and bear him away to the narrow house prepared for all living. It was a sad duty which the Nation was not likely to neglect or leave to others to perform.

In the preparations made for the President’s funeral there was neither passion nor excitement. When Cæsar fell there was an uproar. The benches of the Senate House were torn up by the maddened populace to make a pyre for the burning of the dead Imperator’s body. We have improved upon all that. The temperate spirit and self-restraint of the American people promise well for the perpetuity of the Republic. However much cause there may be for anger and alarm, it is not likely that our institutions will ever be endangered by an outburst of popular fury.

The shutters of Francklyn cottage were closed. The sun’s face wore a coppery tint as he came up from the sea to look on the scene of death. The wind, which had blown stormily for a week, fell to a calm. A September haze filled the air and sky, and an indescribable quiet settled over the long, low shores of Jersey. With the rising of the sun a single craft far out at sea, floating, as it seemed, on nothing, broke the line of the horizon.

At the cottage the silence of death prevailed. At a little distance, on all sides, armed sentinels, with fixed bayonets, paced their beats, guardians of the border line between now and hereafter, beyond which the living might not pass. The flag, which, since the arrival of the President at Elberon, had been floating from a pole thrust out of an upper window of the cottage, was draped with black; but beyond this somber signal no outward sign of mourning was apparent. The first comers were the journalists; but in their demeanor the customary eagerness of competition was no longer apparent. Fifty millions of people would, before night, read the truths which these reporters had come to gather, but their subject of inquiry was now death rather than life; and their demeanor was calm and respectful in that shadowy presence.

At half-past 10, Secretaries Windom, Kirkwood, and Hunt and Postmaster-General James arrived at Elberon, and were invited at once to the Attorney-General’s cottage, situated about as far to the north-east of the hotel as the Francklyn cottage, in which the body of the President lay, is to the south-east. There they remained during the forenoon discussing the details of the events which had just transpired, in which they were all so deeply interested. A half hour later General Grant, with his son and a friend, drove up and spent an hour in gathering information of the last hours of President Garfield.

Meanwhile, the undertaker and his assistants had arrived and were preparing the body of the President for embalming and burial. The body showed the loss of flesh to a degree painful to look upon. Only the face preserved any thing like the appearance of the living Garfield. The beard, in a measure, contributed to this, serving to conceal the hollowness of the wasted cheeks. The body was laid upon rubber cloths placed upon the floor to await the autopsy, which was to take place in the afternoon.

In the afternoon President Arthur arrived at Elberon. He had already taken the oath of office in New York City, and had then come immediately to Long Branch to tender condolence to the friends of the dead and to confer with the Cabinet. The question under consideration was the arrangement of a programme for the funeral of the President. After the conference, the following plan for the funeral services was ordered by the Cabinet, and was given for the information of the public by Secretary Blaine:

“ELBERON, N. J., September 20, 1881.

“The remains of the late President of the United States will be removed to Washington by special train on Wednesday, September 21, leaving Elberon at 10 a. m., and reaching Washington at 4 P. M. Detachments from the United States Army and from the marines of the Navy will be in attendance on arrival at Washington to perform escort duty. The remains will lie in state in the rotunda of the Capitol on Thursday and Friday, and will be guarded by deputations from the Executive Departments and by officers of the Senate and House of Representatives.

“Religious ceremonies will be observed in the rotunda at 3 o’clock on Friday afternoon. At 5 o’clock the remains will be transferred to the funeral car and be removed to Cleveland, Ohio, via the Pennsylvania Railroad, arriving there Saturday at 2 P. M. In Cleveland the remains will lie in state until Monday at 2 P. M., and be then interred in Lakeview Cemetery. No ceremonies are expected in the cities and towns along the route of the funeral train beyond the tolling of bells. Detailed arrangements for final sepulture are committed to the municipal authorities of Cleveland, under the direction of the Executive of the State of Ohio.

“JAMES G. BLAINE, Secretary of State.”

Meanwhile, on the afternoon of the 20th, a post-mortem examination of the President’s body was made with a view of clearing up the many uncertainties which existed concerning the nature of the wound and the secondary causes of death. The autopsy lasted for about three and a half hours, and was conducted by the attending and consulting surgeons, assisted by Dr. D. S. Lamb, Assistant Surgeon of the Medical Museum at Washington, and Dr. A. H. Smith, of New York. The revelations made by the examination were of an astonishing sort, chiefly so as it respected the diagnosis of the President’s injury, which was found to have been utterly at variance with the facts. At 11 o’clock P. M. an official bulletin—last of many—was prepared by the surgeons, setting forth the results of the autopsy, as follows:

“ELBERON, NEW JERSEY, September 20, 1881.

“By previous arrangement, a post-mortem examination of the body of President Garfield was made this afternoon in the presence and with the assistance of Drs. Hamilton, Agnew, Bliss, Barnes, Woodward, Reyburn, Andrew H. Smith, of Elberon, and Acting Assistant Surgeon D. S. Lamb, of the Army Medical Museum of Washington. The operation was performed by Dr. Lamb. It was found that the ball, after fracturing the right eleventh rib, had passed through the spinal column in front of the spinal cord, fracturing the body of the first lumbar vertebra, driven a number of small fragments of bone into the adjacent soft parts, and lodging below the pancreas, about two inches and a half to the left of the spine, and behind the peritoneum, where it had become completely encysted.

“The immediate cause of death was secondary hemorrhage from one of the mesenteric arteries adjoining the track of the ball, the blood rupturing the peritoneum, and nearly a pint escaping into the abdominal cavity. This hemorrhage is believed to have been the cause of the severe pain in the lower part of the chest complained of just before death. An abscess cavity, six inches by four in dimensions, was found in the vicinity of the gall bladder, between the liver and the transverse colon, which were strongly adherent. It did not involve the substance of the liver, and no communication was found between it and the wound.

“A long suppurating channel extended from the external wound, between the loin muscles and the right kidney, almost to the right groin. This channel, now known to be due to the burrowing of pus from the wound, was supposed during life to have been the track of the ball.

“On an examination of the organs of the chest, evidences of severe bronchitis were found on both sides, with broncho-pneumonia of the lower portion of the right lung, and, though to a much less extent, of the left. The lungs contained no abscesses, and the heart no clots. The liver was enlarged and fatty, but not from abscesses. Nor were any found in any other organ except the left kidney, which contained near its surface a small abscess about one-third of an inch in diameter.

“In reviewing the history of the case in connection with the autopsy, it is quite evident that the different suppurating surfaces, and especially the fractured, spongy tissue of the vertebra, furnish a sufficient explanation of the septic condition which existed.”

During the first day after the President’s death several incidents occurred worthy of note. Among others, came two dispatches from Cleveland, whose people were profoundly touched by the death of their friend. The first was from a committee of the city council, and said:

CLEVELAND, OHIO, September 20, 1881.

Mrs. J. A. GARFIELD, Elberon, New Jersey:

In behalf of the trustees, we tender you ground in Lakeview Cemetery for the burial of our lamented President, such as you or your friends may select.

(Signed by Executive Committee.)

This was supplemented by the following dispatch sent by the Mayor of Cleveland:

Mrs. JAMES A. GARFIELD, Long Branch, N. J.:

The people of this city, who have borne such love and honor to your husband, most earnestly and sincerely desire that his grave may be made here among us. Allow me, dear madam, to add to this publicly expressed desire of our citizens my own personal and official concurrence.

R. R. HERRICK, Mayor.

These cordial offers, concurring with Mrs. Garfield’s own wishes and the express desire of her dead husband, determined the choice of the spot where his body was to be laid to rest.

Another incident was the breaking of the news to the aged mother at home. Early in the morning a message came to Mrs. Larabee, sister of the President, who lives at Solon, Ohio, and with whom the poor old mother was for the time residing. The dispatch said:

To Mrs. ELIZA GARFIELD:

James died this evening at 10:35. He calmly breathed his life away.

D. G. SWAIM.

For awhile the dreadful intelligence was held back from the faithful heart that had sheltered James A. Garfield in his childhood. At length, after breakfast, she sought, as usual, the daily telegram from her son. Finding the dispatch, she was about to read, when her granddaughter took the message from her trembling hands.

“Grandma,” she said, “would you be surprised to hear bad news this morning?”

“Why, I don’t know,” said the old lady.

“Well, I should not,” said Mrs. Larabee, “I have been fearing and expecting it all the morning.”

“Grandma,” said Ellen Larabee, “there is sad news.”

“Is he dead?” asked the old lady, tremulously.

“He is.”

The quick tears started in the sensitive eyes. There was no violent paroxysm of grief. No expression of frenzy told of the anguish within.

“Is it true?” she asked, with quivering lips. “Then the Lord help me, for if he is dead what shall I do?”

It was the bitterest of all the outcries of sorrowing human nature—the anguish of a mother’s breaking heart. The morning of the 21st of September broke calmly from the sea. Every thing was in readiness for the departure. For a brief period in the morning the people of Elberon were permitted to view the face of the dead. The coffin rested upon supports draped in black. There were few decorations. Upon the top were two black palm leaves. Some white flowers and a hanging basket of ferns with some branches of cycas leaves, emblematic of heroism, completed the decorations.

At half-past nine a brief funeral service was pronounced over the dead by Rev. Charles J. Young, of Long Branch, and then preparations were made for the immediate departure of the sad cortege on its sorrowful journey.

The train which was to bear away the President’s remains was backed up to the cottage on the track that had been so magically laid over the lawns on the night before he was brought to Long Branch. It consisted of an engine and four cars, which were all heavily and tastefully draped in mourning. Almost all the woodwork on the sides of the cars was covered with crape, only the number of the car being left exposed. The front car was for the baggage. The next was specially arranged for the coffin. In the center of this was a large catafalque for the casket to rest upon. It was covered with crape arranged in graceful folds. It rested upon a raised platform also draped in mourning and surrounded at the bottom by flags. The sides and top of the car were entirely covered with black cloth. Cane chairs were provided for the military guard of honor which occupied the car with the coffin. The third car was a combination one for members of the Cabinet. It was also draped in mourning inside and out. The last car was the private car of President Roberts, of the Pennsylvania Railroad. It was reserved for Mrs. Garfield and family, and was the same car in which she came to Long Branch on the 6th of September. This car was also tastefully draped in black.

Promptly at 10 o’clock the train moved slowly away toward the Elberon station. At this time there were two or three thousand persons lining the track, and the roadway was crowded with carriages for half a mile. Men stood with uncovered heads watching the train as it disappeared from view.

It was expected that President Arthur would arrive at Attorney-General MacVeagh’s house in the morning, and with the Cabinet visit the house where President Garfield lay dead. The mixed crowd of city and country people who had gathered from many miles thought they would witness the closing scenes of the dead President’s career and at the same time catch a glimpse of his successor. The arrangements were subsequently changed, however. President Arthur decided to take a special train from Jersey City and meet the funeral procession at the Elberon station.

Without further delay the funeral train moved slowly along the track which had been laid across the fields specially to convey President Garfield to his new home by the sea. Nearly every hat was removed from the heads of the observers when the train approached. It moved along the left-hand track until the last car was parallel with the rear car of the special train from Jersey City, which stood on the right-hand track. President Arthur and the rest of the party then stepped into the car where the Cabinet were seated. After greeting the persons in the car, the President seated himself behind Secretary Blaine, and the two engaged in conversation. General Grant took a seat immediately behind President Arthur, when he was soon joined by Chief-Justice Waite. The engine which drew the train from the Francklyn cottage drew the train only to the main road. Engineer Paige and Fireman Gwinnell, who had charge of the engine when President Garfield was removed from Washington, were waiting with the same engine on a side track. Deep folds of mourning hung from the engineer’s box and pieces of crape covered the brass and other portions of the engine. Paige, who has always felt great pride in the successful removal from Washington, backed his engine on the main track and coupled it to the car which contained the coffin. At twelve minutes past 10 o’clock, the conductor told Paige that all was ready. A few puffs was the only noise made, and the funeral train moved quietly away.

At the various points en route there were tokens of the deepest popular sorrow. At Ocean Grove, the railroad for half a mile on both sides was lined with people. On the platform of the dépôt were from 4,000 to 5,000 men and women. As the train passed the men stood with uncovered heads, absolutely silent. The bells tolled, and then the crowd dispersed. Flags were at half-mast, and the buildings were draped in black.

There was a brief stop at Monmouth Junction, and at Princeton, where the students from the College of New Jersey were gathered to catch a glimpse of the passing train. They stood five hundred strong along the track, which had been strewed with flowers by the people. At Trenton, which was passed just before noon, an immense crowd of people had assembled. Every man took off his hat, and the women bowed their heads as the train went by. Many persons were affected to tears.

At 12:50 P. M. the cortege reached Grand Ferry Junction, opposite Philadelphia, where a great crowd, standing in silence, caught a glimpse of the casket containing the remains of the dead President. At Wilmington, fully ten thousand people were assembled. The bells of the city hall, court-house, and fire-engine houses were tolled while the train was passing through the city. At Baltimore there was no stop. Several thousand persons were gathered about the dépôt, who uncovered as the train passed, preserving the most respectful silence. Only three or four persons on the train were visible and recognized, the curtains of the cars being closed.

At 4:35 P. M. the cortege reached Washington City. As the train came into the dépôt, there was a hush among the throng, and then every head was uncovered. The scene that followed was impressive in the extreme. Mrs. Garfield, heavily veiled and dressed in deep mourning, alighted, leaning on the arm of Secretary Blaine on the one side, and supported by her son Harry on the other. Members of the Cabinet followed, and among them towered the form of President Arthur, on whose face was written the various emotions which must have struggled within him as he was welcomed by the sad and silent thousands of the people of Washington. This party was followed by the pall-bearers, consisting of trained artillery sergeants. As the cortege reached Sixth Street, where the military was massed, the Marine Band began slowly to play “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” As the notes of this beautiful melody filled the air all heads were bowed in reverence, and even the rabble in the streets was awed into silence.

The scene at the east front of the Capitol was an imposing one. The wide plateau was filled with the various military organizations in bright uniforms, conspicuous among which were the marines. The General and staff officers of the Army and the officers of the Navy formed in two lines leading to the foot of the broad marble steps on the east front, standing on which President Garfield had delivered his inaugural address. Directly in front was the hearse, drawn by six magnificent gray horses. At the foot of the steps stood the officers of the Senate and of the House, and the Reception Committee. When the band had played a dirge, the pall-bearers advanced, followed by the President, Cabinet, Justices of the Supreme Court, Senators and Representatives, and filed slowly and sadly up a pathway which had been kept open in the middle of the broad flight of stairs, the sides being densely packed with people who had crowded in to see this part of the pageant.

On reaching the center of the vast rotunda, the casket was placed on the catafalque which had been prepared for it, and then the President and the Cabinet, together with General Grant, the Senators and the Representatives, stood for a moment in silence. Then a panel covering the face of the dead President was removed, and they looked for the last time upon the wasted features of him who so lately was chief of the Nation, and then solemnly moved away. The sight of the face of the dead President was indeed terrible, and upon most who saw it an impression was left which time can never efface. It was pinched and haggard to the last extreme; the skin yellow and glistening; the eyes sunken, and the lips tightly drawn. The nose looked unnaturally long, sharp, and hooked; and altogether there was but the slightest resemblance to the heroic form and face of him who had been James A. Garfield.

The arrangement made was that for two days and nights the body of the illustrious dead should lie in state in the rotunda of the Capitol. This plan was carried out. A guard of honor stood right and left, and very soon, in orderly procession past the mortal remains of their dead friend, the people began to pour in a continuous stream. It was now night-fall, and the shadows came down around the magnificent structure which for eighteen years had been the scene of the toils and triumphs of Garfield, now, alas, about to witness the last ovation in his honor.

On the morning of the 22d of September Washington City became, at sunrise, the scene of such a pageant as had never but once been beheld within those spacious avenues. By six o’clock the crowds had assembled, and were filing through the east door of the Capitol. As the day advanced the throng increased; and, as it became absolutely necessary that each person should have his turn in the solemn procession, the latest comers were obliged to take up their stations at the end of a long line to the rear. By ten o’clock this was found to reach to the crossing of Second Street and the avenue south-west—considerably more than a quarter of a mile away. All along this line policemen walked back and forth, to prevent stragglers from the outside from coming into the line out of turn. The people forming this procession were of the highest and lowest; among the number, thousands of women and children.

The time required to pass from this extreme limit of the line to the catafalque was, at the most crowded period, three hours and a half, and this under a broiling sun and upon a broad asphaltum pavement, which scorched the feet that pressed it.

During the day there were no incidents in the rotunda worthy of mention. Beyond the ceaseless tramp of the people, who poured through in a continuous stream, there was no sound—the desire for conversation being swallowed up in the awe which the presence of the dead President inspired. Some of the people passed the coffin without lifting their eyes from the floor, unwilling to trust themselves to gaze upon the awful sight. Others, more curious, looked as long as they could, and then reluctantly moved away. There were a great many colored people in the throng, of both sexes and of all ages and conditions. Common laborers in tattered clothing crowded upon sumptuously-dressed ladies and gentlemen, all inspired by a common motive. At one time during the day it was ascertained by actual count that sixty persons passed the coffin in one minute, or at the rate of 3,600 an hour, or more than 40,000 during the day. This is probably not above the actual number which passed through the rotunda.

At the farther end of the catafalque were some beautiful floral decorations. There was a broken column of white roses of the Marshal Neil variety, about three feet high, surmounted by a white dove with wings outspread, as if in the act of alighting. Next came a lovely design representing “The Gates Ajar.” These columns were also of white roses, and the bars of the gate were of variegated white and green. The gate-posts were surmounted by globes of immortelles. Next to this was a crown of white rosebuds, the points being tipped with fern. Beyond this was a bank of white flowers from which sprang a column on which was perched a white dove. Upon the bank of white was worked in green the words: “Our Martyr President.” At each end of the floral display was a wreath of ivy leaves lying on the floor. In the afternoon there was sent from the British Legation a massive wreath, one of the most beautiful ever seen in Washington. It came in obedience to orders telegraphed from the Queen, and the accompanying card bore the following touching and significant inscription:

“QUEEN VICTORIA, TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE PRESIDENT GARFIELD. AN EXPRESSION OF HER SORROW AND SYMPATHY WITH MRS. GARFIELD AND THE AMERICAN NATION.”

“SEPTEMBER 22, 1881.”

The interior of the rotunda was hung in black, though not so heavily as to produce a marked effect. In all other respects this portion of the Capitol was of the usual appearance.

After passing the catafalque, most of the visitors left the building by the west staircase and departed; but many mounted to the dome and viewed the crowds assembled at the east front from that point of vantage. All day the streets were thronged with people. The street-cars, which had been appropriately draped, were filled to overflowing both to and from the Capitol, and all the conveyances in the city were brought into requisition. The trains brought many visitors from all parts of the nation to the city; and many country people from Maryland and Virginia took advantage of the pageant to visit the city.

During the afternoon there were some indications that the decomposition of the body had set in; and, it being understood that in such event it was the wish of Mrs. Garfield that the features of her husband should be shut out from the public gaze, the lid of the casket was closed, by order of Secretary Blaine, at about 6:30 in the evening.

Thus, with the evening twilight, the face of James A. Garfield, which, for so many years, had shone with a great radiance among the people, was shut forever from the sight of men.

The morning of the 23d of September witnessed a renewal of the scene of the day before. At half-past eleven all the doors and avenues of approach were closed in order that Mrs. Garfield might go in and remain for a few minutes alone with her dead. What passed behind those silent curtains belongs not to curious history, peering ever with sleepless eyes into the secrets of life and death, but only to the stricken woman who went in alone to her honored dead.

After this affecting episode the procession was renewed for a season, and then preparations were made for the observance of the formal ceremonies of the day. At two o’clock the services began. Appropriate passages of Scripture were read by Rev. Dr. Rankin, and this was followed with a touching prayer by Elder Isaac Errett, of Cincinnati. As the closing words of the invocation died away, the Rev. F. D. Powers, of the Vermont Avenue Christian Church, of which President Garfield was a member, delivered a feeling address. He spoke in a clear voice, and was distinctly heard in every portion of the hall:

“The cloud so long pending over the Nation has at last burst upon our heads. We sit half-crushed amid the ruin it has brought. A million million prayers and hopes and tears, as far as human wisdom sees, were vain. Our loved one has passed from us. But there is relief. We look away from the body. We forget, for a time, the things that are seen. We remember with joy his faith in the Son of God, whose gospel he sometimes himself preached, and which he always truly loved. And we see light and blue sky through the cloud structure, and beauty instead of ruin,—glory, honor, immortality, spiritual and eternal life in the place of decay and death. The chief glory of this man, as we think of him now, was his discipleship in the school of Christ. His attainments as scholar and statesman will be the theme of our orators and historians; and they must be worthy men to speak his praise worthily. But it is as a Christian that we love to think of him now. It was this which made his life to man an invaluable boon, his death to us an unspeakable loss, his eternity to himself an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away.

“He was no sectarian. His religion was as broad as the religion of Christ. He was a simple Christian, bound by no sectarian ties, and wholly in fellowship with all pure spirits. He was a Christologist rather than a theologist. He had great reverence for the family relations. His example as son, husband, and father, is a glory to this Nation. He had a most kindly nature. His power over human hearts was deep and strong. He won men to him. He had no enemies. The hand that struck him was not the hand of his enemy, but the enemy of the position, the enemy of the country, the enemy of God. He sought to do right, manward and Godward.

“He was a grander man than we know. He wrought, even in his pain, a better work for the Nation than we can now estimate. He fell at the height of his achievements, not from any fault of his; but we may, in some sense, reverently apply to him the words spoken of his dear Lord: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him.’ As the nations remember the Macedonian as Alexander the Great and the Grecian as Aristides the Just, may not the son of America be known as Garfield the Good?

“Our President rests; he had joy in the glory of work, and he loved to talk of the leisure that did not come to him. Now he has it. This is the day, precious because of the service it rendered. He is a freed spirit; absent from the body, he is present with the Lord. On the heights whence came his help he finds repose. What rest has been his for these four days! The brave spirit which cried in his body: ‘I am tired,’ is where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. The patient soul which groaned under the burden of the suffering flesh: ‘O, this pain,’ is now in a world without pain. Spring comes, the flowers bloom, the buds put forth, the birds sing. Autumn rolls round, the birds have long since hushed their voices, the flowers have faded and fallen away; the forest foliage assumes a sickly, dying hue:—so earthly things pass away, and what is true remains with God.

“The pageant moves; the splendor of arms and the banners glitter in the sunlight; the music of instruments and of oratory swells upon the air; the cheers and praises of men resound. But the spring and summer pass by, and the autumn sees a Nation of sad eyes and heavy hearts, and what is true remains of God. ‘The Eternal God is our refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.’”

At the close of the address another prayer was offered by Rev. J. G. Butler. As the last words of the service died away a beautiful rainbow appeared upon a bank of clouds in the east, and while this arch of promise rested calmly against the background of black, the casket was taken up by the pall-bearers and borne away to the hearse. The funeral train was already in waiting at the dépôt of the Pennsylvania Railway, and every thing was in readiness for the departure. The streets were lined with people, and no visible sign of grief was lacking to testify the sorrow of the people for the dead, and their sympathy for the living. The Marine Band played a solemn dirge, and at sixteen minutes past five o’clock the train started for Cleveland.

The journey from Washington to the west was made without remarkable incident. Crowds, large beyond all precedent, awaited the passage of the train at every point. In Baltimore, which was reached before dark, the whole city had apparently turned out to see the draped coaches go by. As the train reached the outer edge of the waiting throng, Mrs. Garfield was seated in her car looking out of the window. Knowing her disposition to shrink from publicity, one of her companions arose to put down the shade. But she asked that it be allowed to remain open, saying that she was glad to see the crowds which had assembled to do honor to her husband.

All on the funeral train retired early and remained in bed until they arrived in Pittsburgh. In the night, however, those awake saw everywhere the crowds which were in waiting. At Altoona a weird scene impressed itself upon the minds of those who saw it. The place was passed in the middle hours of the night. The darkness was made visible by large numbers of pine torches held by workingmen stationed at intervals along the streets. At East Liverpool the members of a Post of the Grand Army of the Republic awaited the passage of the train. At another place the track was strewn with flowers. At Pittsburgh, which was reached a little after six o’clock, the whole town was astir, and the train made its way between dense and silent masses of humanity. In the morning all on the train called on Mrs. Garfield to pay their respects. She had borne the fatigue of the night and the long journey quite well.

At nearly every station along the route, bells were heard tolling as the train passed, and at one or two places dirges were played by brass bands. It was noticed by the passengers that the women in the crowds through which the train passed were weeping. Very good time was made as far as Pittsburgh, but at that point a dispatch was received from Cleveland asking the railroad authorities to delay the train an hour or two, as the citizens had not yet completed their arrangements for the reception. On this account the speed was decreased, and the train did not arrive at Cleveland until 1:15 in the afternoon.

The ceremony of reception at the latter city was simple, and every thing was decorously done. Long before the train was expected the people of the town, in carriages, street cars, and on foot, made their way toward the station. Military and civic organizations were already on the spot, and although there was some inevitable bustle, every thing was in place when the train arrived. As the draped engine drew near, every head was uncovered. When the train stopped, the citizens’ committee of reception, which had met the cortege as it passed into Ohio, stepped off the train, and formed into double line. The Judges of the Supreme Court, Senators and Officers of the Army and Navy followed, and took their positions in the line without delay.

The coffin containing the body was then lifted from the car by the regular soldiers who accompanied it on the train, and carried to the hearse. The personal friends and attendants of Mrs. Garfield, including the members of the Cabinet and their wives, then passed between the two lines. Last came Mrs. Garfield leaning upon the arm of her son Harry, and escorted upon the other side by Secretary Blaine. Mrs. Garfield and her family were taken to a carriage and driven directly to the house of James Mason, which became her temporary home.

It had been determined that the remains of the President should be conveyed to Monument Square, and there be laid in state until the day of interment. To this end a pavilion, perhaps the finest structure of the kind ever erected, had been built in the middle of the square at the intersection of Superior and Ontario Streets; and here the body of the President was to lie until the 26th of September, which had been fixed upon as the day of sepulture. The pavilion, tasteful in design and rich in decoration, was a fit exponent of the gorgeous solemnity of sorrow. The structure was forty feet square at the base. The four fronts were spanned by arches thirty-six feet high and twenty-four feet in width. The catafalque upon which the casket rested was five and a half feet high, covered with black velvet, and handsomely festooned. Long carpeted walks ascended to the floor from the east and west fronts. The pavilion was seventy-two feet high to the apex of the roof. From the center of the roof rose a beautiful gilt sphere, supporting the figure of an angel twenty-four feet high. The columns at each side of the arches were ornamented by shields of a beautiful design and exquisitely draped. Over these were suspended unfurled flags. The centers of the arches bore similar shields. On the angles of the roof were groups of furled flags. Projecting from the angles of the base were elevated platforms, occupied by fully-uniformed guards. Each platform was provided with a suitable piece of field artillery. The structure was appropriately decorated, from base to dome, with black and white crape. Flowers and flags were displayed in various portions of the pavilion.

The interior was beautified with rare plants, choice flowers, and exquisite floral designs, two carloads of which had been brought from Cincinnati. The whole was a magnificent piece of work, both in design and execution.

At the east and west entrances to Monumental Park were heavy Gothic arches with drive-ways and openings for foot passengers on each side. They were situated at a sufficient distance from the catafalque to appear to be a part of it. The eastern one was covered with crape, with white and black trimmings running down each column, and the top bordered with blue and white stars. Added to these were several golden shields. The western gateway was similar in construction, and seemed fairly to close up Superior Street to the view. On the extreme outside pillars were the names of the States in black letters.

Into this solemn and beautiful structure, at the head of an almost endless procession, and drawn in a beautiful hearse, surrounded with guards of honor, was borne the body of the dead Garfield. Here the casket was laid upon the catafalque prepared for its reception. The day was already worn to evening, but it was decided not to admit the throng of people until the morrow.

Meanwhile, a last resting-place had been chosen where the great Ohioan should be at peace. The place selected for the tomb was at the top of the most commanding knoll in Lakeview Cemetery. Below it lie two ornamental lakes of considerable size, and on all sides, except the south, stand the marble and granite monuments of the dead. Northward, in the distance stretching along the horizon on either hand for twenty miles, can be seen the blue waters of Erie. The selection of this site was made by the trustees of the cemetery, subject to Mrs. Garfield’s approval, which was promptly and thankfully given.

So one more day closed in the shadows of the autumnal twilight, and Ohio sat still beside her dead.

It was the morning of Sunday. A strange vision rose with the sun. Cleveland was thronged with illimitable crowds of people. The murmur of the multitudes, though subdued, grew, and became continuous. At nine o’clock the guards about the public square made an opening in their line upon the west side through which the multitude began to pour. They were kept in line four and five and six abreast, marching in families, squares, groups, and indiscriminately, but still keeping their ranks, and sweeping steadily and rapidly onward at the east and west sides of the catafalque. Inclined planes had been erected and carpeted so that the throngs marched easily up on the one side and down on the other. The pace was too rapid to make the visit a satisfactory one—for the exquisite floral adornments were tempting enough to furnish pleasure for a visit of an hour—but all had an opportunity to get one glance at the coffin which contained the remains of him they had met to honor.

As the morning wore on the procession grew in length and volume. In an hour after the movement began the line stretched away to the distance of a square; then two squares; then a half mile. The people passed at the rate of one hundred and forty to the minute. Still there was no abatement of the tide which poured past the catafalque. In the afternoon the immense volume of humanity was swollen to a river whose surging, silent waters seemed filled from fountains exhaustless as the ocean. Later in the day came a storm of thunder and wind; only a few were driven from the column; others filled the vacant places, and still the tide surged on. As the crowds, never ending, swept by the catafalque, every hat was raised, and with uncovered heads, often with tears in their eyes and half-suppressed sobs, the people moved on. Late into the night they continued to come in unbroken ranks, the old and young, the pure and vile, the lame upon their crutches, the infirm leaning upon their companions, and babes in the arms of their mothers. It was the day of the people. It was estimated that during the day 150,000 human beings passed silently by the casket whose mute tenant recked no longer of earthly pomp and pageant.

On the evening of the 25th, Monument Square was set aglow with electric lights, which, from high places here and there, threw over the strange scene their brilliant, almost unearthly, splendor. On the outskirts of the guard-lines great masses of men and women still lingered, gazing silently towards the catafalque surrounded by sentinels. At midnight only a few guards and workmen remained inside the line, though many persons were yet on the streets outside. The scene was singularly impressive at this hour. The almost perfect silence, the bright glare of the lights, the ceaseless movements of the sentinels, the sighing of the wind through the trees, combined to create a feeling of awe in the breasts of all beholders. The massive structure, reared so quickly in the large square, seemed the work of magic. The fact that the noble, patriotic Garfield lay calmly sleeping the final sleep amid the scenes of his early manhood, carried its sad lesson to every heart, and then came, quick as thought, the reflection that the morrow would hear the mournful monologue of “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.”

It was the morning of the last day on earth. Well-nigh all the formalities, many and sometimes tedious, peculiar to the burial of one falling in high office and high honor, had been observed, and to these had been added a thousand tokens, extemporized out of the nation’s grief, befitting the funeral of a beloved Chief Magistrate. It only remained for the people once more to lift the casket containing the body of their friend, and to bear it to the home prepared for all living.

At 9 o’clock on the morning of the 26th the line of people leading toward the pavilion found itself suddenly confronted by a line of muskets. The order had been given to clear the gates. Men and women who had been in line for hours were unable to proceed further, and many with ill-disguised resentment turned aside to seek a favorable point to view the exercises. The troops now formed along each side of the Park, in a hollow square six hundred feet in length. The beautiful canopy stood in the center, at the intersection of the two streets, and under it lay the casket. An opening was made at the western end leading up to Superior Street, and this was maintained with some difficulty by a regiment of State troops. From this point to the canopy itself was stationed a line of marines from the Washington Navy-yard—a broad avenue, a half a mile in length, being thus kept open, so that the carriages of those entitled to admission could enter without difficulty. It was a beautiful sight from the canopy to look down this long double file of soldiers and knights, and the photographers were busy in their efforts to preserve the picture.

At 9:30 A. M. the funeral car, which was to convey the body to the cemetery, was drawn into the square by twelve black horses with black draperies fringed with silver lace. The horses were arranged four abreast. At the head of each of the six outside horses was a negro groom in long black coat, high silk hat, and white gloves.

The car was elaborately decorated and surmounted by large black-and-white plumes, with folded battle flags at each corner. Next came a procession of carriages bearing the family and intimate friends of the dead President. Draped chairs were arranged about the catafalque, and here were seated not only those who were bound to the Garfield family by the ties of nature and intimate affection, but also a great number of the most distinguished statesmen, jurists, and soldiers of the nation. The sound of a minute-gun broke the silence, and the services were opened with the reading of the Scriptures by Bishop Bedell and an invocation by the Rev. Ross C. Houghton. At eleven o’clock the Rev. Isaac Errett, of Cincinnati, pronounced the funeral oration, which was a chaste and touching tribute to the memory of the great dead.

At the close of this eloquent address, Rev. Jabez Hall announced General Garfield’s favorite hymn, “Ho! reapers of life’s harvest,” which was sung by the choirs gathered about the catafalque. Then followed a closing prayer and benediction by Rev. Charles S. Pomeroy, and then the removal of the casket to the cemetery. It was now noonday, and the heat was very oppressive. The funeral car had been drawn up to within fifty feet of the foot of the incline leading from the canopy, and a roll of carpeting covered the ground. The trained soldiers from Washington stood in line at the foot of the canopy, ready to carry out the body whenever the word was given.

The members of the Cleveland Greys, with their high bearskin hats, stood like statues at the four corners of the canopy. The long line of soldiers stood, all attention, and the signal that all was ready was given. At the word of command the soldiers, with their white helmets, stepped briskly up the incline, and turning “about face,” readily lifted the casket to their shoulders. Then, grasping each other by the shoulder, thus giving the casket all the support necessary, they marched with slow and steady step down toward the funeral car. Not a word was spoken. The men were too well drilled to need more than a nod of command, and they carried the body to the car and laid it on the bier in silence. Then they marched back, and, turning again, took up their position on either side of the coffin.

A line was now formed outside of the square in order that the cortege might pass on its way to the mansion of the dead. The wife and mother and children of the President, accompanied by a great throng of intimate friends, arose to follow, and then the procession began to move towards the cemetery, three miles away.

The funeral car proceeded beyond the city hall, and stopped until the first carriage started out. As the carriages containing the friends of the family and eminent men were filled, the car continued its journey until the massive archway at Erie Street was reached. Another jam of people were waiting here. And as the procession slowly passed onward these joined the ranks. Turning into the broad and beautiful Euclid Avenue, the mournful cortege wended its way toward the cemetery in the distance. The great difficulty with the moving pageant was its immense volume. If all applicants had been given a place it would have been twice the length of the entire route. The weather had been very warm during the morning, but about two o’clock a refreshing breeze cooled the atmosphere, and an hour later a heavy storm of rain came down, rendering the march very disagreeable. Then there was a stampede of the crowd for shelter. The rain lasted for about fifteen minutes, and the bright uniforms of the soldiers, and the feathery plumes of the Knights Templar, and other societies, were drenched and soiled.

The procession continued its weary march without further event until the head of the column arrived at a point about half a mile distant from the cemetery gate, when a halt was ordered. The societies then opened their ranks, and the funeral car, with escort and following carriages, passed through and onward to the vault which was to receive the President’s remains.

Here was the last scene of the solemn pageant, begun afar by the sea. The surroundings were grand and beautiful. Art had led Nature by the hand to this last shrine of the earthly pilgrimage. On every side lay the soft carpet of green. Over the space from the roadway to the entrance of the vault was a magnificent canopy, draped in the gorgeous trappings of woe. The air was burdened with the perfume of a thousand flowers. Leading into the vault was a dark carpet strewn with roses so thick that the carpet could not be at first recognized. On entering there was presented a somber darkness and sacred shade, equal to the catacombs of antiquity. There was a vault within a vault. The interior was hung all about with dense mourning, having large flags as a background. The choicest floral designs occupied every space on the walls, and the floor was deeply bedded with choice flowers. A large cross and crown, from the Belgian Legation, was in the center of the south side, and an elegant lyre, sent from Washington, was on the opposite side, while numerous designs from the people of the city were placed here and there. It was impossible to use all the floral offerings sent to this place of rest, and many of them were kept in the boxes at the vault. The walls of the chamber were trimmed with smilax, and the doors with crape festooned with trailing vines. On the first step of the entrance, at the right door, was a group of three elegant crosses of roses, jasmine, carnations, with the words,

“DEAD, BUT NOT FORGOTTEN,”

the gift of the Bolivian Legation at Washington. The steps were covered with evergreens and strewn with a thick carpet of rosebuds, tuberoses, and carnation. A large wreath, presented by the ladies of Dubuque, Iowa, was fastened near the ceiling, so that it could be seen at some distance. Looking through the open door at the head of the bier was a lyre of roses, carnations, and tuberoses, bearing in immortelles the words:

“IN MEMORY OF JAMES A. GARFIELD.”

At the foot of the bier stood a heavy cross, the gift of Mrs. Garfield herself to the Decorative Committee, for that place. The sides of the vault were draped with rich black. The canopy of the interior consisted of many flags so arranged as to give the impression of an interior roof. The inner west wall was beautifully draped with flags festooned with black, and ornamented with a wreath of white roses. The floor was covered with a carpet of arbor vitæ and roses. The heavy doors were removed, and the gates were draped with bunting and festoons of smilax. In the center of the vault stood the bier, a beveled parallelogram, with a base of black velvet and draped entire with heavy black broadcloth, rich fringe, and a liberal trimming of evergreen.

The procession halted. It was the last stage in the journey. The chief mourners, except Harry and James Garfield, did not alight. The clouds still wept at intervals. The band removed to a distance, sounding the notes of a solemn requiem. The Forest City Guards formed on the right and the Knights on the left. The funeral car was then drawn up over the heavy carpeting of evergreens and flowers. The long lines of Guards presented arms. There was a moment of death-like silence—a most impressive pause—when the inclined plane was adjusted to the car. The Marines marched up into the car and carefully bore the casket down and directly into the vault. It was set gently on the bier. The Guards stood silent. A brief historical sketch of the dead President was read by the Rev. J. H. Jones, former chaplain of the old Garfield regiment. The Vocal Society of Cleveland then chanted in beautiful measure the Twenty-second Ode of Horace. The friends and attendants were thanked for their presence and sympathy, and the benediction was pronounced by President B. A. Hinsdale, of Hiram College. The door was closed. A guard was placed about the sepulcher, and all that the earth could claim of James A. Garfield was left to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

To moralize on the Life and Work of Garfield would be superfluous. He has furnished to the people of the United States one of the brightest and noblest examples of American citizenship. Both in public life and private life he has contributed to the annals of our times a record unsullied as the azure sky. His steps were the steps of a pure man climbing up to greatness. His ambitions were chastened—his aspirations the aspirations of a patriot. Over his great talents was shed the luster of noble activities, and his path was illumined with something of the effulgence of genius. His integrity was spotless, his virtue white as the snow. Of all our public men of recent times, Garfield was in a certain sense the most American. He had suffered all the hardships of the common lot. He had known poverty and orphanage and toil. To himself he owed in a preëminent degree his victory over adversity and his rise to distinction. He carried into public life, even to the highest seat of honor, the plainness and simplicity of a man of the people. Ostentation was no part of his nature, and subtlety found no place in his practices. In an age of venality and corruption—the very draff and ebb of the Civil War—he stood unscathed. He went up to his high seat and down to the doorway of the grave without the scent of fire on his garments. His name smells sweet in all lands under the circle of the sun, and his fame is a priceless legacy which posterity will not willingly let die.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers. 4. Enclosed italics font in underscores. 5. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.

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